


Duet

by Aisu



Category: The Protomen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisu/pseuds/Aisu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Protoman never had a chance to learn more than his name before he was sent to die. Now he finds himself forced to learn about his brother and his father at last - but family is still something he might never be allowed to have. Protomen canon divergence AU, with a focus on the (non-romantic) relationship of Protoman and Megaman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speccygeekgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/gifts).



“There's no need for this.” The voice is hoarse, the undertones resonating in a way that isn't quite human. “You know he's no threat. Not now.”

“I've thought that before,” comes the reply, silk-smooth, composed, not a syllable out of its perfect place. “He's proven me wrong twice. I'd rather it not end up being three times.”

“I'm a general. A tactician. Not a spy.”

“And what else would I do? Send a Joe in a wig, perhaps? There's nobody better for the job than you. Hell, there's nobody at all for the job but you. You know that as well as I do.”

“I don't want to do this,” Protoman says, and while his face betrays no emotion there's a choked edge to his voice.

“I know,” Albert Wily replies. “I don't care.”

* * *

His feet seem to know the way better than he does, leading him through the streets of the city. Around him the buildings gradually turn from tarnished steel and broken glass to once-solid things of brick and concrete that are now more like ruins. These are the districts Wily hadn't had the time or the inclination to rebuild, the outskirts, barely in his city and barely worthy of his notice.

The patrols don't come here often, but Protoman has many times before. He knows the apartment building he's headed for. He's spent enough nights on the fire escape or the roof, listening in wordlessly, sometimes whistling along with his father's guitar quietly enough that he is sure that he will not be heard. He's rerouted patrols away, dispatched a few snipers that came too close. The half-crumbled brick building with its shattered windows and dark rooms is important, after all, although he isn't sure why it seems to matter so damn much in his mind.

This time it's different, though.

He can feel the new software in his head, pressing against the edges of his conscious mind, making itself known through slight flickers in his vision and momentary bursts of radio communication. He wants to shut out knowledge of it, but it refuses to let it be.

He's been turned into a camera, quietly broadcasting back home, and he is providing a glowing map to the home of his creator.

His boots crunch over broken glass and steel debris – normally, he'd make his way here by the rooftops, but that's too quick for today. He doesn't want to get there with any haste. But there's only so long he can take, and soon enough he's there, staring up at the broken building.

It's strange. He's always been good at following orders. He's always been efficient, getting things done with quickly and easily.

But it takes him nearly a minute just to open the damn door and start up the metal steps.

Most of the floors are long abandoned, the people deserting the building as the systems began to fail. There are better places to live, after all, better patrolled, better maintained, closer to the warm glow of the screens. The tiny shred of freedom that comes from living on the outskirts isn't worth the cost. Another thing that Protoman quietly hates.

But from the hallway of the 20th floor, he can hear faint noises. Someone laughing. Life.

His father and--

He shakes loose the thought, closes his eyes for a moment to refocus on his objective. After a second's thought, he slides off his helmet, exposing black hair and lens-like eyes for the first time in a long time. Better that he's visibly not a threat, even if his entire body's still a weapon. (A tool.)

The walk to the front door is slow. Lifting his hand is slower. He feels like he's caught in quicksand.

Somehow, he knocks.

The noises silence. He can detect faint whispers, although even with his senses he can't catch all the words. Still, he can guess at enough. It's not as if there are many visitors here. They're considering the possibilities, wondering if it's worth it to answer at all if the chances are so high that behind it is a sniper or one of Wily's few human loyalists or worse.

He hopes, for a moment, that the door will stay closed, that he'll have to go back to Wily and explain that breaking in would send all the wrong messages, that Wily will have to adjust his plans. He'd be punished for it, surely, but it would mean a few more days of routine patrols and walking the city streets and listening from the roof and doing anything but this being anywhere but here--

The door opens, just a crack. Green eyes peer out of him. Too green, too vivid – more human than Protoman's, but the eyes of a robot still. For a few seconds, there's just silence as their eyes meet, and Protoman wonders what the (new son) other robot already knows. Has Light told him the story? Does he understand what the red helmet under the crook of Protoman's arm means? Does he understand anything?

The door closes with a click and a voice comes, younger-sounding than Protoman's but still with their father's intonations and slight drawl - “Dad? I think it's a robot out there, but I don't know what kind and he's not even in armor or anything” - and Protoman can't fight back a mirthless smile.

His father's as much a coward as ever.

A minute or so passes before the door opens again, all the way this time, and this time Protoman recognizes the face. Thomas Light is worn and aged and tired, with more wrinkles, but his eyes are the same as he regards Protoman with something like resignation.

Protoman's the first one to speak, after a long silence.

“I came back,” he says, and he wonders if his father hears the tiny catch in his throat.

“I see that,” Light replies, stepping aside. “You had better come in.”

* * *

Protoman lets Light tell the story to Megaman, who is wide-eyed and staring throughout. He does not step in to add the details that Light leaves out – that the robot masters had taken his arms first and then deliberately used weaker attacks to draw it out, that the crowd had begged and pleaded but not taken a step forward, that he had died in agony and alone. Light does not tell the story that comes after, either. He does not speak of how the city knows that a red demon stalks its streets. He does not speak of how the hero became a monster.

When Megaman turns to him, silently questioning, Protoman takes a moment to study the other before he responds. Megaman's younger – he looks barely sixteen, seventeen – and shorter, and he is human in a way Protoman never has been. A careful observer would note the lines around his neck and his joints, the shine of his eyes, the way his auburn hair catches the light just a little wrong, but nobody else would know. He has been made to be human, while Protoman's long-sleeved coats and scarves and sunglasses cover all the metal and plastic that makes him.

Megaman was made to be a son. Protoman was made to be a weapon.

“Wily rebuilt me,” he says at last, glancing over at Light to judge his reaction. The man's face is unreadable. “Spent years with me in a lab, trying to figure out my code so he could change it without losing my tactical ability. Trying to force obedience on me. He couldn't manage it, though, and finally I saw a chance and broke out.”

What he doesn't say is that Wily needed no code to force his obedience. That all he needed was to remind Protoman of the staring crowd at his death.

Megaman nods as if this explains it. “I'm... glad,” he says softly. “That you made it out. I'm really happy to meet you... brother.”

When he smiles, Protoman lowers his head, unable to look any more.

* * *

The next few hours are filled with endless chatter. Protoman is lead by the hand around the tiny apartment, forced to look at everything. Megaman has crayon drawings of himself and Light, drawn with striking imprecision for a robot. Megaman has a collection of odd things from his brief trips into the city (always supervised, always a few minutes at most), intact bottles and scraps of machines and other bits of junk that somehow caught his eye. Megaman has a beaten, ancient guitar, somehow with strings intact but still falling apart - “Dad's teaching me to play, he's really good, did he ever teach you?”

Protoman follows behind, lost, trying to keep track of the endless stream of trinkets. He can't understand the point of any of it. It all feels like trash to him, and Megaman's constant babble of information flows over him. In his room at the fortress, he has his charging pod and spare parts and a few outfits, and nothing else.

At one of the crayon drawings – Megaman and Light in some imagined green field – Megaman frowns, grabbing it to remove it from the wall. “I'll have to redraw this one,” he says with a slight frown, setting the rejected drawing aside.

Protoman raises an eyebrow at this. “It looked fine to me,” he says honestly.

“I know, but, well, it was a family picture,” Megaman states as if this should explain everything in a moment.

When Protoman fails to speak, just watching Megaman in bafflement, Megaman plunges on to explain.

“I have to put you in it now.”

And Protoman finds that, for the hundredth time that day, he has no idea what to say.

* * *

Megaman's the first to go to 'sleep', disappearing into his room and shutting the door behind him. By then, Protoman is lounging by the window, staring out at the city below, and after a few moments pass Light joins him there.

“He loves you already, you know,” Light says, his voice sounding as tired as the rest of him looks. “He's like that. Of course, he loves everything from outside the apartment. I can't blame him, given.”

Protoman makes some noncommittal noise, not looking away from the window. The screens are announcing curfew, Wily's face projected in glowing light.

“Why did he send you, Protoman?”

This makes Protoman look up, gazing at Light's face. In the light from outside, he looks pale and washed-out, already a ghost. Still Protoman says nothing.

Light watches him in turn for a few seconds, then sighs and looks out the window. “I know. You can't tell me. Hell, letting on that I know is probably a danger, right? Of course, if he thinks I don't know, then he's even more of a goddam idiot than I thought.” He gives a weak laugh that turns into a cough halfway through.

“I don't plan to hurt anyone here,” Protoman says at last, choosing his words carefully. The wrong said said and Wily will dismantle him when he returns.

Not that he's sure that he'd mind.

“No, if he wanted to kill us he'd just send a horde of snipers.” Light shakes his head, leaning against the glass. “You're here to watch, right?”

Protoman looks away, back at the cluttered apartment, eyes fixing on one of Megaman's simple drawings. Anywhere but the city or Light.

“Look at me, Protoman,” Light says, and suddenly his calloused fingers are on Protoman's chin, lifting his head up with surprising strength. A new intensity burns in Light's eyes. “I want him to see my face when I see this. I want him to see me.”

“If he's watching,” Protoman says flatly.

“If he's watching,” Light echoes, lips twisting into a sardonic grin. “Listen. Megaman, he's—he's not a weapon. He's just a child. He'll barely ever leave this apartment in his life. He's company, in my age. He's someone that I don't have to—to end up failing. Someone for me to love”

The words slip past Protoman's lips before he can stop them. “Unlike me.”

Light's eyes widen, and he releases his grip on Protoman. “Protoman, I didn't realize what I was doing when I built you. I didn't think. I'm sorry, truly, you have no idea how much I've relived that moment in my nightmares, wondering what I could have done--”

“You could have stood beside me,” Protoman interrupts, stepping away from the windowsill. “I need to recharge. There's an outlet by the desk, does it work?”

Silence falls, Light finally breaking it with a strange hoarseness in his voice. “It should. Goodnight, Protoman.”

And Protoman plugs himself in without a word, settling down into uneasy unconsciousness.

* * *

“Do you want to hear me play guitar?”

Protoman blinks, looking up from his seated position by the window into Megaman's eyes. His brother is grinning, vibrant and exuberant as ever. It's been five days since Protoman's arrival, and somehow Megaman still hasn't calmed down from his initial excitement at all. There are more than a few drawings featuring Protoman hanging from the walls now.

“Sure,” Protoman replies, sitting up a little straighter. He's grown increasingly tired of Megaman's energy, but he doesn't know what to do but put up with it. It's not as if he's unused to faking not being annoyed by things. His time with Wily provided him with plenty of practice.

Megaman beams, running to grab the beaten old guitar and settling in front of Protoman. “It's not perfect, yet, I need to practice, but...”

Protoman says nothing, but he gives a thin grin. Practice. Light could teach Megaman to play the guitar in seconds. It would just be simple code, after all. But for some reason Light has left Megaman with nothing but the basics and left him to work it out for himself, even with the things Light clearly wants him to learn. Protoman cannot understand, with his databases of useful skills.

Not that he has not learned other skills, on his own. He was not made to care for music either, but--

But before he can think on it further, Megaman's hands (so much more delicate than Protoman's) are playing across the strings, plucking out a melody, and Protoman is caught in it.

He's heard it before, of course. A pure, clear tune, simple but still full of emotions that Protoman has never been able to properly place. It was the song he taught himself to whistle with – and before he even realizes he is doing it, he is whistling along, working a harmony to Megaman's guitar, adding trills and complex sequences over the top.

Megaman looks startled, but his playing does not falter, and soon they are truly playing together, letting the melodies interweave, Protoman cutting in with unexpected high notes and Megaman bringing him back to the solid base, building the song together into something new and better and true. When they finish it at last, it is on a single note they decide on together, and it fades only slowly into the stillness of the apartment.

“That was... wow,” Megaman says, and for once he's not grinning, just looking quietly shocked instead. “I didn't expect...”

“I didn't either,” Protoman replies honestly. He feels strangely drained, but pleased in a way he can't explain as well. “Where did you learn that song?”

Megaman frowns at that, setting aside the guitar. “I didn't learn it. I came up with it. Took me a while, but...”

And Protoman stares. The song – full of emotions, full of a strange longing – does not seem like it could have come from Megaman. Megaman is bright and bubbly and enthusiastic and shallow, not anything like what he just heard. “You... composed it?”

“I guess so?” Megaman says, shrugging. “It's... how I feel sometimes. Looking out at the city. Knowing I can't go out. Knowing that I'll never really get to... do anything. Or save people. Or be a hero. Or...” He smiles, but it's wan compared to his normal expressions. His hands fidget idly. “I guess that's a little better now that you're here? And man, we can have jam sessions!”

Protoman understands, then, and hates himself for not understanding before. He wonders if Light knows yet what's inside his son's heart.

He wonders if Wily knows.

He feels almost ill, then. If Wily did not know before, he knows now.

And this moment cannot last.

“Jam sessions,” he says hollowly. “Sounds great.”

He wishes with a desperate fervor that he had never realized that Megaman is truly his brother, Light's son – that Megaman, too, would die for the damn city that has engulfed them all.

* * *

“Your report?”

Protoman sits on the edge of the roof, staring at the fortress at the distance, hand against his 'ear' as he speaks. “You're seeing this all live. Why do you need a report?”

“Don't be flippant, Protoman. You know Light better. You know them both better. Report?”

This is, he knows, his chance. If he plays it right, maybe he can win this silent battle.

He knows already that he will lose.

“Megaman's... I think you'd call it cabin fever, sir. He's tired of being in one place. Restless.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“He's just a bored child, nothing more,” Protoman says, and he hopes that Wily cannot hear the lie in his voice. “He won't do anything.”

There's silence for a few moments, and then:

“Continue observation.”

The radio clicks dead, and Protoman folds his face into his hands.

He never wanted to be a hero again. He never wanted to try again. He cannot do anything.

But he wants, desperately, achingly, to be able to save his brother.

And in the room below, someone is playing the guitar.

**Author's Note:**

> The duet was, if it was unclear, meant to be Protoman's Theme (aka my favorite music in the Megaman series, bar none).
> 
> This was originally meant to be a little 2000-word fic, and then it sort of exploded in my head, so I have literally no idea how long this is going to be. I'm so sorry.


End file.
